The build up in my mind causes a build up of emotions out of control. Could it be always being strong is becoming my weakness? Maybe the fact my views are shot down the second I start to breathe them out. Every step I have endured have made me who I am today. So why can I not push through it without a battle? Where does the line get crossed?
It’s becoming a daily pattern. Fighting for a dream I have had for so long, trying to get forced back into the hiding it ran out of. Understanding me is so perplexed and yet not one word can bring justice to an angered emotion. Seems explanations are no match for another form of mindless concern. Every moment of a step forward is a major toss backward.
Strong, yes I get it. I have had to be for so long. Now I am cracking to the point even mortar may not hold the bricks in place. Every weakness coming out. Not wanting to repeat my past, yet it is difficult to look for a light when darkness is peeking over. It’s a gloomy sight to see. Locked inside these four walls, afraid for what might transpire.
I can not be the only one who fears the other side of the edge. I can not be the only one who sees a particular date and lay there thinking please just let me blink this away. So hard to live in a world where making the same mistakes over 100 times is just the way of life. I can speak the words out but the sound is off. No one listens anyways. Wheres my next stepping stool?
There it is, the release of a sound pushing you to the break. All those silent thoughts have rolled out in such a different paragraph. Would have rather a punch in the throat, at least outer scars heal. How do you forget a word spoken out of your mind? How do you not personalize others ideas of you? How do you make them see this imperfect being wanting, longing, aching for your view to long for that me?
Begging for the complete exhale of hurt, pain, suffering out and inhaling the depths of the shinings held so close. Wanting to break lose of the ties connected to individual arteries pumping your blood with each thought. When will that revert to a never happen moment? Or is this a craving to a forbidden slice of insanity into much abundance?
The need to be a glimmer I used to dream of has come full circle. Fighting the demise riding on the wings of lust for things never should have opened. A chance, a spark, a minor glance is all I need to understand right now, right here. This will always be who I am.